James had turned upon her entry and was now staring at her. Emma’s heart sank, for his expression was bland and bored, the same one she’d seen him give to a dozen grasping mamas over the years. Now she was no better than those women who he disregarded with such ease.
“Good evening, madam,” he said.
“Do I need to call a vicar?” her mother said with a chuckle.
Emma lunged forward. “Mama!” she gasped, cheeks burning. She couldn’t bring herself to look at James again. “That is enough.”
“Oh, hush, child, I’m only teasing,” Mrs. Liston said, her gaze still on James. “Though this is inappropriate, Your Grace. You alone with my daughter with the door shut.”
He was quiet a moment, long enough that even her mother shifted under his accusatory silence. He cast a swift glance at Emma, and she prayed he could see she had not arranged this ridiculous display.
“Of course you are correct, Mrs. Liston,” he said softly. “My behavior is untoward. I apologize to you and to Miss Liston.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Liston burst out. “Of course my daughter is so very honored by the attention you pay to her.”
“Mama!” Emma hissed, grasping her arm.
Mrs. Liston shook her off. “We will leave you now, Your Grace. But I certainly hope we shall have the honor of you dancing with Emma tonight.”
James inclined his head without verbally responding, and Mrs. Liston caught Emma’s hand and drew her to the door. She went with her mother, incapable of doing anything else in the face of this new humiliation. But as they exited, she cast one final look back at James.
He was staring at her, face still impassive, and it was in that moment she realized that he’d never told her he didn’t want her to leave. And after this display, she could imagine he would want nothing but exactly that.
Chapter Fourteen
Emma stood against the wall, her head bent and her lips pinched. James felt his stomach turn as he watched her, for her pain was clear. All he could think about were the three options Graham had offered him hours ago. He could send her away, he could make one last attempt to help her or he could simply claim her as his own and be done with this madness.
But the last was impossible. It felt impossible. He’d vowed never to marry as a punishment to his father, and that was part of the reason he resisted his duty. But there were other reasons, too. Chief amongst them is that Emma’s ability to see into his soul was abjectly terrifying to him. Letting anyone so close was an exercise in pain.
He’d learned that from his father, if nothing else. How many times had the man drawn him in, especially when he was small? He’d pretend to change, pretend to care, only to cruelly cast him out just as swiftly. James had learned that love wasn’t permanent. It never could be.
He could not allow Emma any closer than she already was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still want to help her. He’d seen what she was up against during the intrusion of her mother earlier in the evening. Mrs. Liston was so desperate that she might ruin everything for Emma if they didn’t act swiftly.
So he drew a harsh breath, steeled himself against whatever foolish feelings were trying to break through within him, and crossed the ballroom toward Emma.
She seemed to sense his approach, for when he was about halfway across the floor, she looked up and found him. Her eyes went wide as she straightened up and her lips parted.
He was lost. He wanted to take her mouth, he wanted to take her body, he wanted to hold her up against him and let everything warm and wonderful about her fill him in his empty spaces.
But he couldn’t allow that. He stopped before her and held out a hand. “Dance?” he asked, incapable of making the question more formal.
She stared at his outstretched fingers for far longer than any other lady in his acquaintance would have done. Then she nodded speechlessly. He took her hand, jolted once again by awareness at the action, and led her to the dancefloor where they began to move together.
She was silent a long time. He allowed it for he had no idea what to say to her, how to face her when she was far more than he’d ever expected her to be weeks ago when his plan was hatched.
Now that seemed like a lifetime ago.
Finally, she cleared her throat and whispered, “You told me that your father was why your mother behaves as she does. It is the same with me and mine. His issues are…well known. I’m certain you must be aware of them.”
He stared at her, shocked that she would at last address his earlier question to her. After everything that had happened since, he hadn’t thought she would bring down that particular wall.
Yet she did. She trusted him and that made his chest swell with pride. That she would offer this glimpse into herself meant something. He wanted it more than he cared to admit.
“I have heard a few whisperings about Harold Liston, I admit.”
Her face drained of color at those words, and for a moment she stumbled in her steps. He steadied her, keeping her upright as he examined her face.
“That is what my mother fears most,” she said in a tone that was barely audible. “That eventually those whisperings will becoming shouts and any chance I have at the future she wants for me will be dashed at last.”
“The future she wants?”
She nodded. “A good marriage, one that will offer not just me a place in the world, but her.”
His jaw tightened. How he understood about being forced to take care of those around him, even to his own detriment. “That is a great deal to lay on your shoulders.”
She shrugged one of those shoulders and said, “It is what has been expected of me for as long as I can recall. The weight can be…heavy, especially since I have failed in obtaining what she wants for so long. But it isn’t as if I have any choice in the matter. Going to live in the countryside as a spinster is not something I am allowed to think about.”
He wrinkled his brow at the unexpected option she put forth. “Is that what you would want, to live a life alone? Never marry, never become a mother yourself?”
She tilted her head. “You are one to talk. You have a duty and you will not fulfill it, either. You are willing to go so far as to pretend to court a woman in order to avoid forming a real connection with anyone.”
He looked deep into her eyes. “I think we have a real connection.”
Her lips parted slightly and her eyes glazed with a hint of desire. She shook it away. “But not permanent, Your Grace. So we are both led by the shadows of our fathers. You because you do not want to be like him, me because I fear the consequences of his actions.”
He pulled back slightly at her statement. How did she know about his father? He had barely spoken to her on the subject.
Unless Meg had revealed him.
“What are your father’s actions?” he asked, drawing her away from the subject of his pain.
She sighed. “He gambles, he engages in scandalous affairs, he brawls. He does whatever he likes.”
“That sounds like how you once described me,” he said. “Golden? Untouchable?”
He expected her to laugh at his gentle teasing, but instead her jaw set. “On his best day, my father isn’t half the man you are, James. And he has never been golden. Everything he does has a cost. He just doesn’t always pay it.”
“You do,” James said gently.
She nodded, and her upset was clear. “That is why my mother considers him such a danger, even though she forgets all that the moment he comes home and gives her a crumb of attention.”
He shook his head. “She would turn her back on all he’s done?”
“As you said, that is what love does,” she whispered, her voice cracking and her gaze suddenly intense.
He shook off the effect of that pinning look with difficulty. “Makes her forget that she believes him to be a danger? Is he one?”
He thought of what Sir Archibald had said about Liston’s gambling with Emma’s future. At the ti
me he had believed it was just nasty baiting, but now…now he feared it might be true, Especially when Emma hesitated far too long for him not to know the answer even before she spoke again.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “To himself at the very least.”
The music began to fade and James found himself frustrated by that fact. He had been taken aback by her ability to see him, truly see him, but tonight he had finally gotten a glimpse into her.
He stepped away to perform a bow as she curtsied, then he lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss across her gloved knuckles. He felt her tense, saw her pupils dilate with the same desire that coursed through his own veins. The one he had not expected, but had come to crave as much as water or food.
“Thank you, Emma, for trusting me. And I want to help you. I’ll do everything in my power to do so.”
She pulled her hand from his, her face turned as if she didn’t like that answer. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured before she turned and left him.
He watched her weave through the crowd on what appeared to be unsteady legs, and wished he could go after her. But he didn’t. Because to save her, truly save her, would be losing himself.
Emma stood on the terrace, clutching the rock wall and staring out into the dark night. The cool air did nothing to calm her, for her mind kept running back her dance with James.
She had been trying to pretend she could play this game with him without losing. But she wasn’t sophisticated like him. She wasn’t able to guard her heart the way he had clearly taught himself to over the years.
So when she looked up into his dark eyes, she realized how much she cared for him, craved him. Not just his intoxicating touch, but him. She wanted his heart, she wanted his soul, she wanted to belong to him, not just for a night or for the duration of a party, but forever.
“Idiot,” she cursed at herself, clenching harder at the wall.
“You want him.”
She started, turning to find her mother standing at her shoulder with a smug smirk on her face. “What?” Emma burst out, too loudly. “Who?”
“Abernathe,” her mother said, drawing out the name slowly. “You want him, don’t you?”
Emma shook her head. She didn’t trust her mother enough to make her a confidante. “Don’t be silly, Mama.”
“It isn’t silly,” her mother said, reaching out to cover her hand. All it succeeded in doing was pressing her palm into the cold, rough wall. “You could have him, Emma, and in the process save us both. You know what to do.”
Emma turned her face. “I will not compromise myself and betray him by forcing him into a union he does not desire.”
“Betray him?” her mother repeated, her expression shocked. “My dear, you must not be so naïve. He may pretend to be something heroic in here, but a man like that would just as soon cut your throat as save you, no matter what he pretends right now. You are at war and you must do anything to win.”
Emma yanked away from her. “Listen to me, Mama. I will not compromise myself and force his hand. Stop asking me to do so.”
Her mother huffed out a breath. “Then you doom us both.”
With that she hustled back into the house. Emma was ready to follow when she caught a flutter of movement from the dark edge of the terrace. She turned toward it, heart pounding, and watched as James stepped out of the shadows. The heart that had been pounding now sank as she watched him come toward her, his face twisted with emotion, his gaze focused entirely too hard on hers.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” he said softly. He said nothing else, but bent his head and kissed her. While his other kisses had possessed her, claimed her, this one was gentle. Soothing, and she sank into it because she needed his strength and his support in that moment.
When he pulled away, she let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “We will work this out, Emma.”
She stared up at him, his handsome face lined with worry. She was falling in love with him. She knew that. Perhaps she’d always been a little in love with him. It explained why his mere presence made her nervous. But that had been an unrequited feeling, a silly notion she’d never fully believed was possible. Men like him didn’t want women like her. She’d accepted that.
But now the world was turned over on its head. James Rylon, Duke of Abernathe, did want her. He proved that every time he touched her. It was too easy to be lulled into the possibility that friendship and desire could turn to love when they wouldn’t. Not for him.
He would never allow that.
She pressed her shoulders back and stepped away from him. “My mother is wrong about a good many things, James. But in one thing, she is correct. This is a war. Not with you, not in the way she believes. But a war it still is. And I must stop waiting for something to happen, waiting to be saved. In the end, I must fight it for myself. Otherwise I will end up a causality. And I might very well drag you down with me.”
He stared at her. “What are you saying?”
“It’s time for me to fight my own battles,” she whispered, wishing her words sounded as brave as she wanted them to. Wishing her heart felt brave, too. “You have positioned me on the battlefield, after all. It is time for me to act. Good—good night, James.”
She held his gaze for a long moment and then turned away. He whispered her name. It floated to her on the wind and she nearly turned back. Nearly rushed back into his arms where she most certainly did not belong.
But somehow she found the strength not to. She kept walking, went inside and surveyed the crowd. She observed each eligible man in attendance, analyzing them, and at last she found her mark. With a smile that did not reflect the loss she felt in her soul, she strode across the room to Meg.
Her friend smiled as she reached her. “Enjoying the night air?”
Emma tried not to think of her stolen moments on the terrace with James. The moment when she’d realized she had to let him go. “It was a bit cold outside, actually. Meg, can you do me a favor?”
Meg nodded. “Anything in the world, Emma. You know that.”
Emma squeezed her hand, grateful for the kindness of this woman who she had grown to adore in the few weeks they had been friends. “Yes, I do know. Will you introduce me to Mr. Middleton?”
Meg blinked a few times and both women looked across the room to the gentleman in question. He was older than Emma by at least fifteen years, but his age did not hang on him like an ill-fitting vest as it did with many men. He was of a similar rank to her own father, though he had taken his connections and parlayed them into minor financial success and respectability. He had also lost his wife three years before and had two children.
In short, he was not reaching too high like she had been with Abernathe, nor too low.
And when Emma looked at him, she felt nothing.
“Emma,” Meg breathed. “What about my brother?”
Emma caught herself before she let out a pained gasp. She refused to meet Meg’s eyes as she said, “Abernathe has helped me a great deal, but I know I must take these next steps myself. I can’t wait around for someone else to save me.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Meg whispered.
Emma turned toward her friend. “I know it isn’t. But James…he cannot give me what I need. I’m not even sure he would want to. And no matter what I think or feel, I cannot be so foolish as to pretend I have all the time or choices in the world.”
Meg bent her head. “You are trapped.”
“Yes.” Emma nodded. “And I must make the best of it.”
Meg laughed, but the sound was pained rather than pleasurable. “Well, no one understands that concept better than I.”
Emma tilted her head, really seeing the pain on Meg’s face for the first time. Really seeing that trapped expression that she knew so well, herself. “Meg, do you not want-”
Meg shook her head. “Let’s not talk about what I want. It do
esn’t matter. Come, let us meet your Mr. Middleton.”
They crossed the room together and Meg made the introductions as a good hostess. And as a good friend, she then found a reason to leave the two alone. Emma moved through the motions of a short discussion with the man, but was hardly attending even as they chatted and he asked her to dance.
She followed him to floor, and as they began to turn together, she saw James reenter the ballroom. His gaze found her, locking on her and her partner. His jaw tightened and his fists clenched at his sides. But he didn’t move on her.
And she turned her face and concentrated on the future, not the past. And not a fantasy she could never really have.
Chapter Fifteen
James stalked through the garden, not paying attention to anything around him. He didn’t give a damn about flowers or morning dew or chirping birds. Right now he was alive with frustration and an anger he couldn’t fully process. All he knew was that he had been kept awake all night by both. And every time he did find sleep?
He dreamed of Emma. Emma in his arms. Emma opening to him. Taking Emma.
Alternating between blind rage and a cockstand was not a pleasant way to fill the hours.
He careened around a corner and came to a stop. Standing there, staring up at the house, was Simon. “Crestwood?”
Simon started, turning toward him with a flush to his cheeks that almost looked guilty. “James, didn’t see you there. You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” James admitted. “Looks as though you couldn’t, either.”
Simon shrugged. “It’s a regular affliction for me lately, it seems. Walk with me?”
James stepped in beside his friend. “What troubles you?”
“Nothing that can be fixed,” Simon said, his tone very soft but also hard as steel. “What about you?”
“I’m sure you and Northfield have already discussed my problems at length,” James muttered.
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